The Colorado caterer was runner-up on Season 7 of the Food Network's "Next New Food Network Star" (the show that, in its second season, unleashed Guy Fieri on the world). Jimenez's winning talent is on display in a vibrant and surprising carrot salsa, the vegetable cut into a precise crunchy mince. It's there in an equally unexpected zucchini-and-walnut mole sauce, all gentle seduction; or in a bright explosion of chipotle yogurt hot enough to make you catch your breath.

It is futile to resist the incendiary bullets of jalapeños crusted in lemony, crisped bread crumbs and cradling a racy filling of ricotta spiked with blue cheese and bacon. Like numerous dishes at Trenza, they trigger the kind of capsaicin-induced pain/pleasure Houstonians know and love. So, in a lower-key fashion, do Jimenez's jalapeño scalloped potatoes, a fluffy cheese-laced cloud that is hard to stop eating.

Would that these thrills came consistently throughout the 26-item menu, which is divided into five curiously punctuated categories: Al.ter.na.tive, Tra.dit.ion.al, Del.i.cate, Rus.tic and Mod.ern. The groupings seem self-conscious and contrived. I've never managed to make much sense of them, despite staff explanations that the categories relate to cooking techniques. What's rustic about a shrimp dumpling, exactly? Can a flaky, restrained mushroom-and-wild-rice strudel really be "del.i.cate" if it's moored in a searingly hot lagoon of chipotle and roasted red pepper sauce?

These and other questions haunt me after three visits to Trenza. I want to like Jimenez's cheeky mesh of Latin, Indian and assorted Asian flavors, a mix that seems far more natural in this city than it might elsewhere. I admire the restaurant's ambitious cocktail program under skilled bar manager Nick Barton, as well as the presence of some well-matched wines - from a piercingly clean Muscadet to a fuller Trimbach Pinot Gris - served at proper temperatures, reds included.

I enjoy the gleam of hammered copper that animates the long, upper-story dining room where pizzeria Ava once lived. I like the spunk of chef Jimenez herself. It's easy to see why she was a hit on television. Working the dining room in an elfin knit cap, she's a fast-talking, effervescent presence, spouting ideas and asides and self-deprecating jokes.

But: This is Jimenez's first restaurant, and she's still finding her way. There's a disjointed feel to the menu, which involves too many separate pieces of paper at this point. It can be daunting trying to construct a meal. Too often, dishes are haphazardly executed or simply out of balance - such as that mushroom strudel fighting its hot-as-blazes sauce. Both elements are eminently likable on their own. Together they seem off kilter.

So does a dish of ricotta-and-goat-cheese ravioli, the cilantro-tinted pasta envelopes all but obliterated by a raucous sauce involving tequila, mushrooms and chipotle. It tastes as nutty as it sounds.

What to make of Duck Lettuce Wraps served with ruched leaves of Bibb that have gone limp and dispirited along their outer frills? It's such a crucial misstep that the effect of the filling (braised, shredded duck and a kicky cactus-pad salad) and the spirited condiments (an expansive Colombian citrus dressing) ends up compromised.

Pallid tomato slices with virtually no flavor subverted a tomato carpaccio salad recently added to the menu. Arugula, watermelon radish batons, fried shallot rings and feta crumbles couldn't compensate for this basic lack of quality. If you're going to add a tomato carpaccio to your menu, it makes sense to wait until you have access to good tomatoes.

And did no one notice that a quartet of bonnetlike shrimp dumplings had dried out and stiffened, so that their topknots were all but inedible? The packets looked gorgeous, but their filling had no clear shrimp taste, and their soy-lime-ginger sauce was a blast of salt.

Those are the sorts of blips that are easily fixed. A more endemic problem here is a tendency to overcook meats so that their textures seem a bit off. I would have loved my tamale of curried braised short rib (recently removed from the menu) had the shreddy filling not hovered at the edge of dryness. The whole point of short rib, it seems to me, is its voluptuousness, its slightly fatty slip and slide.

Too bad, because the tamale's jalapeño-laced tomatillo sauce had a brilliant intensity, and the introduction of warm Indian curry spices to the tamale filling seemed - like many of Jimenez's combinations - more natural than forced.

A tall heap of minced lamb vindaloo, served as a Mexican sope, had that same near-dry effect, and neither its crisped masa boat nor its crown of tart fennel slaw could offset the austere texture. Unlike Jimenez's usual bold stylings, the aggressive heat of an Indian vindaloo was missing in action.

Trenza's version of carnitas was softly mono-textured, with none of the bronzy crisp fried edges Houstonians have come to expect.

The pork was cleverly served as make-your-own mini tostadas, to be garnished with a lovely salad of grilled cactus pad and queso fresco, and with a confetti of that brilliant little carrot salsa. Had the texture of the pork been more persuasive, this would have been my favorite dish.

Even a plate of grilled and sliced flank steak seemed slightly overcooked, with grayed splotches overtaking the rosy centers.

Yet its accompaniments of scalloped jalapeño potatoes, emerald ropes of grilled scallion and the graceful, mild nuttiness of its zucchini-walnut mole made the whole plate sing. It should have been a home run.

At $22, that plate of flank steak is one of a handful of larger, entree-type dishes on the menu. Trenza opened with a tapas-style approach, with small plates to be ordered in succession.

Some of the prices seemed a bit dear: Back in December, a frugal friend of mine was horrified to be served a single chicken tikka masala empanada for $12. Neither was he impressed by the fact that the seasoning didn't soar and that the empanada rested on a strangely large bed of shredded lettuce salad.

But apparently patrons wanted larger portions because that empanada is now two empanadas served for $16, with the same blue-cheese-dressed Bibb lettuce salad filling out the plate. A $14 single scored-and-seared scallop on gingered cauliflower puree has morphed into a two-scallop plate for $17.

These are the sort of adjustments to be expected at a starter restaurant. Jimenez, with her swanky space and Sonny Sachdeva, her Houston investor, is just working out the kinks on a larger public stage than most first-timers.

I hope she smoothes things out because she's anything but dull. Not all of her multi-culti splicing works, but she trades in some memorable flavors and combinations that suit our collective palate. I'm rooting for her.